


A Serious Lack of Impulse Control

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Bionic Woman (2007), Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Femslash, Mental Instability, Slash, Smut, Vampire Slayer(s), Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah wants to hear something begging for mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Serious Lack of Impulse Control

Cheetahs are fast, but not for all that long. Sarah can run almost as fast as a cheetah now. Can also hit prey hard, could scream like a falcon and crunch bone and blood and muscle between her jaws.

Might try it sometime, get lost in the woods somewhere and see what she can bring down. But now is not the time. Now she's too up, too much adrenaline, too much information, not enough stabilization. Might go after something too big, might leave herself exposed.

Sarah needs to move, needs to taste blood or at least hit something and hit it hard. Listen to the crunch of bone, the sweet wet thud of muscle tissue being pulverized. Hear that high squeal of prey, begging for mercy.

Sarah hears herself breathe out, a shuddery kind of pant, and then leans over her window sill, looking out at the alley of the shitty neighborhood where she's been installed.

Focuses eyes on the shadows. Wishes she had a cigarette, but hers are all wet from her little performance for nice little Jamie, the girl scout who's replacing Sarah.

The air's awful around here. Almost as good as cigarettes, but cigarettes don't smell of unclosed trash bins and...and...oh, yes. Oh, yes, that's the smell of something. Of blood something, of human blood, focus Sarah focus. Somewhere there's bleeding going on in the shadows.

Focus. Listen.

Grunting. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a shadow move.

Rooftop brawl. She can hear the footsteps now, the kick of small particulate matter under plastic-rubber soles. Heavier tread, too. The soft panting that a winded woman might make.

No screaming. Very strange, Sarah knows, pulling herself out of her apartment and onto her fire escape, bruised thighs protesting, but the ache is sweet and Sarah needs to do something or she'll bite through her tongue for the taste of something real.

Her fingertips grasp the brick and cement edge of the roof, rough but grippable, and she pulls herself up, gets a quick view. One woman.

Jamie? Same dark hair, same kind of jacket, and Sarah hears herself scream a battle cry as she vaults over the wall and into the fray. That's her kill. Jamie is hers to dispatch. Definitely not going to lose that taste to two big shambling assholes who look like they were dressed in 1975, anyway.

"You boys want to play?" she calls, grinning like mad. "She's pretty scrawny, after all. And I'm here to play now."

One of them swivels. Sarah coughs, because it's not human. Or maybe it is, maybe the same government that bred them up a super soldier needs a freaky-faced mutant guy with fangs, but given the way the universe works, Sarah thinks no.

Sarah thinks it's a thing that will bite her. Might be stronger than human.

Might have been a mistake to help Jamie, all that luscious pale skin and sugar-sweet looks and that grit, that refusal to be prey like all the others are prey.

"Look at this. Two of 'em," the fanged guy says. "You take that Slayer. I'll take this one."

"Sounds right, Jake," says the other one, who's still focused on Jamie. Okay. Odds about even. Stupid guys. As long as there's no biting, Sarah is probably okay.

Jake leers at Sarah. "Wanna dance, Slayer?" he asks.

"My name is Sarah," Sarah says, feeling her muscles tense up, feels ready for the burst of killing speed. Break its neck. Knock out its knees. Disable it, then kill. "And I don't dance with ugly guys."

Bursts free, coming at the thing silently as an owl, loves that look of surprise on its face as she leaps, grabs his hand, twists his arm to break it off if she can.

It screams. Good scream, what she's been needing. "What the hell?" he bellows.

Sarah kicks out its heels, shoves her weight forward. Can't even think about Jamie right now. Shouldn't even think about Jamie right now, because if Jamie can't handle a simple little thing like the mutant fang monster, she's not going to survive in the big hard world out there.

"Holy shit!" it says. "Ronnie, a little help here. This one's playing mean. Ronnie, man...Ronnie!"

Ronnie doesn't answer, and when Sarah looks up, she doesn't see any Ronnie. He's gone and so's Jamie, that treacherous bitch. Now she's going to have to break its neck and what if that doesn't kill fang boy? Sarah took one through the heart and she's still around.

"Shut up about Ronnie," Sarah says, shattering its forearm. "I'm gonna choke you to death."

"What the hell stupid threat is that?" a woman's voice asks from the darkness behind her. "It doesn't breathe."

"How do you kill it, then?" Sarah asks. "Getting bored, playing with my food and all."

"One...second..." the woman's voice says. "Just...like...this..."

Sarah's face and clothes are now covered with ash. The goddamn thing exploded on her, thanks to a stupid wooden stick, and now she doesn't have anything to play with. Jamie better damn well... but that's <em>not</em> Jamie.

This one has dark eyes. Little like Jamie, looks a lot like her. Like a cousin or something, but dark eyes. Something closer to Sarah than the girl scout is. For now.

"You're a little old to be a Slayer," not-Jamie says, wiping sweat off her forehead.

"I'm not a Slayer," Sarah says. "I'm Sarah. Who are you?"

"Faith. And if you're not a Slayer, what the hell are you? I never seen anyone move that fast, and you had that guy screaming for mercy," not-Jamie says, a Boston accent shading her words. "I could find a job for someone like you."

"I don't need a job," Sarah says, moving up on Faith the Slayer. "I don't like bosses and orders. You might say I have a problem with..."

"Authority?" Faith wisecracks. Sarah lets a smile lick across her lick. Then she actually licks her lips.

"Impulse control," Sarah replies. She can smell things, too. Things better than air pollution and rotting garbage. Sweat. Skin. Hot sweat, hot skin, the sweet taint of wanting, all contained in a leather jacket. Trace of tobacco. Ask Faith for cigarettes later. After. "Come downstairs. I'll show you what I am."

"And how fast you move?" asks Faith, a trace of laughter, aimed at herself, the unbelieving, _oh-fuck-I'm-gonna-fuck-a-stranger_  gasp. Sarah likes that gasp. Almost like prey, but they'll play first.

"You already know that," Sarah says, sauntering away. She flips over the edge of the building onto a fire escape. "Come on, Faith. Scared of a girl?"

Slides into her apartment, offs her soaked-through jacket and top. Wet skin, ambient light from the neighborhood. The sound of feet climbing down a ladder.

"Nice dump," Faith offers, wet sneakers on bare floor jolting Sarah's ears. "You ever fight a vamp before?"

"That what those things were? Vampires?" Sarah asks. Vampires are real. She'll need to learn a little more about that later. Maybe ask Faith, maybe after the cigarette.

"Yeah," Faith says. "Take off their heads, burn 'em dead, stake through the heart. That does the job. Just in case you ever find yourself fighting one again."

"Thanks for the tip," says Sarah. "I guess I owe you one."

She walks over to where Faith is leaning against the window, just as soaked as Sarah, small and dark-haired and so much like Jamie that Sarah can almost see shy blue eyes instead of knowing dark ones.

"No big," Jamie says. No, wrong, this isn't Jamie. But Sarah kisses her anyway, feels small lips against hers, strong arms around her neck, wet shirt against her naked stomach.

Feels warm mouth, light touch of teeth on her neck, on her shoulder. Mmm. Nice. Very nice. Been a long time since Jae, and Jae wasn't like Sarah. Jae didn't have energy coiled into muscles, waiting to pounce.

Faith's not a cheetah, but she's a big cat. Like Sarah, and Sarah likes taking Faith's chin between two fingers, forcing it up for a biting kiss, a fighting kiss, where Sarah bites down on Faith's lower lip.

Draws blood. Not a lot. Just enough to get a stinging taste.

"You're a little wild, aren't you?" Jamie asks. Not Jamie. There's a malfunction in the wetware somewhere, replacing Faith with Jamie. Not good. Will have to be repaired.

"A regular wildcat, yeah," Sarah jokes, dragging a fingernail down Faith's throat. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes, honey."

"Good idea, babe," Faith says. Good. Better when she sounds like Faith and not like Jamie.

Except as she rolls out of her sopping, dripping t-shirt, the white skin looks just like Jamie's, and Sarah growls and drops to her knees, just so she can lick a spot that's glistening with water. Turns her on more, having Jamie here, in a weird way.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Faith says while Sarah licks Jamie's pale, rain-wet skin, kneading one breast with a hand while the other grips her hip. "That's fucking great...."

Her hands grip hard against Sarah's shoulders. Not bionic. But close. Very close, very good, fingernails digging into flesh. Sarah's so hungry, she suddenly turns her head, rubs her nose against Faith's wrist, and bites Jamie's skin, feels delicate little veins against her canines. Lets go, but starts sucking, starts nipping and sucking without quite breaking the skin.

Good. So good, Sarah can feel the heat of it to the seam of her jeans, pulsing with her heart.

"Sarah," Faith breathes. "More. Give me more, babe."

She can smell them. Both of them, wet and panting and horny as fucking hell, Sarah just wants to bury her tongue in pussy and drag a screaming come out of the other woman, suck and lick and fuck all the malfunctions out of her system.

She puts her cheek against wet denim, Jamie's skin-tight jeans. Not Jamie, not Jamie, Faith, Faith whose hips surge while she whimpers. Because Sarah is rubbing her cheek against Faith's wet, too tight jeans.

"You want me to take 'em off?" Sarah asks, breathing humid air poisoned with slick need.

"Fuck yes," Faith snarls. "Take 'em off and fuck me."

"You gonna do me, too, honey?" Sarah asked. "I wanna come for you."

"I'll fuck you all night, please, just...please," Faith says, pleading and panting and hips starting to pump.

Sarah likes please. Please is prey. Please is pretty. Sarah turns and tears the jeans off, rips the tiny pair of thong panties right off those curvy hips, shoves the sodden mess aside and pulls Faith to her hungry, devouring mouth.

God yes. That's the taste she wanted, the smoky, salty-sweet taste on her tongue as her fingers brand a pattern into Jamie's hot little ass.

NOT JAMIE. Sarah's teeth almost bite down, though the tiny scream that escapes her earns a nice matching one from Faith, who is trying to get her entire cunt into Sarah's mouth, more more more, she begs.

Sarah can hear the begging, but she can also hear Faith's blood, her pulse speeding up, the throb of blood against Sarah's cheek as her tongue and nose probe and suck and lick, drinking in the wetness that Faith can't stop sharing with Sarah.

So good. So good, the rocking hips, hair and juice and pussy in Sarah's mouth and on her face and chin. The tensing muscles, the volume of Faith's moaning, the way she gets wetter and wetter, complete little slut for it.

Good. Uninhibited. Feels good to have prey that likes to be chased, hunted down and devoured.

"Oh, God, fuck, yes, yes, YES!" Faith screams, going rigid as her spine snaps, right above Sarah's hands, weight shifting down, knees giving way as Sarah pulls back, lets her sink against Sarah, kneeling like Sarah's been kneeling, as they kiss each other, tasting like Faith, like rainwater, like sex.

"I ain't been fucked like that in years," Faith growls, hands aggressive on Sarah's tits, nuzzling Sarah's neck and Sarah's chin, wet with Faith. "How 'bout you, babe? You ready to scream it out?"

Her hand rubs against the seam of Sarah's jeans. Very good. Very close to coming already, but she's not going to come in her pants.

"Not until you strip me naked and put your hot little mouth right where I need it," Sarah says with a leer, licking her lips. "You gonna do that for me?"

She is. She is, and how...very good. Very, very good. Sarah's going to come fast, hard, and more than once, thanks to Faith, just the way she likes it.

With her hair over Sarah's thighs, she looks just like Jamie, too. Her fingers are too soft, and she moves her tongue too much, but it's close enough.

Sarah grips one of her shoulders, and wraps her other hand around the bedpost.

Not Jamie.

But good enough for tonight. Good enough to take the edge off.

Good enough for a quick taste.


End file.
